Home
by CarterMulligan
Summary: Series of romantic/sexual one-shots between Mary and Francis. Smutty more often than not, some fluff. Do not read if uncomfortable with sex.
1. Reunion

Francis rides gallantly into the foyer of the castle near the stables, alive and well after a long night away with that vicious plague looming over everyone's head. As soon as she sees her king arrive home to her at last, Mary lets out a breath of air she didn't know she was holding in. A weight lifts off of her shoulders and she knows now that she may keep her husband another day.

Despite that Francis has just become a father to Lola's baby, the only thought on his mind is his wife and his queen. He wants nothing more than to make her happy. He see's her standing on the ledge above the foyer, tears in her eyes and her hand over her heart. A grin stretches uncontrollably across his face at the sight of his love so relieved. Once he's sure that Lola and their baby will settle into the castle alright, free of harm, he leaves her with their trusted servants. Catherine is the first person to meet the baby, knowing very well that this is her first grandchild.

They meet in their chambers, Francis only speaking to whom he must and saying what he must before hurrying along to his wife.

"Oh Francis!" Tears stream down her cheeks and they embrace each other tightly. "I'm so glad you're alright." He strokes her hair and coos loving words in her ear. Suddenly she pulls back and smacks him harmlessly on the chest. "You will never do that to me again! Next time there is a quarantine set upon the castle you're staying in bed where I can watch over you for the duration of it." She wipes her cheeks and he smiles softly at her, pulling her close once more.

"You have my word," he murmurs softly. "I'll gladly not leave your bed for as long as you'd like," he adds, his voice an octave deeper, and Mary can hear it in his tone. Something's changed in his mood, in _that_ way. "I've missed you, Mary..." he whispers, kissing the sensitive skin of her neck below her ear, his breath tickling her jaw. She shivers, knowing very well that Francis was taking advantage of her special area. That place on her neck, that was her _spot._

She moans so very softly that Francis questions even hearing it. But once he realizes he had his cheeks blaze with heat and his eyes with desire. She sees them, and no words need to be said before they're ripping each others' clothes off.

Their 1600th century french garments weren't exactly easy to remove in such haste as there were many layers of protective clothing, but somehow they managed to find themselves stark naked in a matter of seconds.

Francis gently sets Mary on her back against the soft satin sheets- a gift from the last King of Spain. She sighs with content as his lips trail their way down her neck, between the valley of her breasts, and downward along her stomach. His tongue dips into her navel and she squeals with surprise. He does something he's never done before and licks up the wetness of her and ends on the sensitive bundle of nerves he had never taken advantage of until now. She whimpers and tugs on his hair.

He continues pleasuring her like this for what seems like hours which in reality was only minutes, but it was enough to bring her to the brink of euphoria. "Francis yes, don't stop!" she cries out. So he does just that, he stops and pulls away to wink at her.

Giddily chuckling at her he says, "Always expect the unexpected, Miss Mary. I'm not ready for your release yet. I've not had enough of you." She sighs and tangles her fingers in his hair once more, pulling him back up so that he is eye-level with her.

"Make love to me already," she says breathlessly as she catches his lips for a passionate kiss. He eagerly obeys and devours her mercilessly, nudging her legs apart with his knees. It'd been nearly a month since they'd last been together in this way- entirely too long for the both of them. He teases her by brushing the tip of his engorged manhood against her heated and throbbing arousal. She whimpers and yanks on his hair tightly, leaning her head back against the pillows and biting her lip.

Slowly, he lets himself become one with her, sliding himself into her wet and ready body. Her name falls from his lips in an exasperated whisper and he almost can't believe anybody could feel this could, let alone somebody who is his.

"You alright?" Mary wonders out loud, voice strained from the exquisite intrusion her body readily faces.

"You're just tight," he grins, kissing her softly and gently before pulling out all the way, letting himself sink back in with ease. They both sigh in simultaneous pleasure. "You feel so amazing," Francis moans as he buries his face into her neck, beginning to find a steady pace in his thrusting.

Mary wraps her legs around him and kisses his neck, his shoulders, his lips. He wraps his arms tightly around her and repeats his every motion. They make love like this until she can no longer stand his gentleness. She pushes him off of her and he sits back onto his knees questioningly.

"Why did you stop?" He looks at her as if she had just killed a puppy. She doesn't answer and enjoys the newfound feeling of having the control.

"Lie down," she instructs, sitting up and straddling him as he listens to her command without hesitation.

She leans down to kiss him fiercely, grinding her wetness down onto his pulsing erection. He moans desperately, grabbing her and pulling her to him with such force that Mary can't deny the woman inside her what she truly wants. Francis watches as he disappears into her inch by inch, and soon they're making love to the fullest extent. Bodies intertwined and moving together in a magnificent dance of fire and rain.

Mary cranes her neck and arches her back, giving Francis a wonderful view of her body and perked up nipples. He can't keep his hands off of her, he reaches up and cups one of her breasts in his hand, running his thumb over her nipple and causing her to whimper gently. Her nails dig into his chest from the sensation and Francis begins to tweak the other one as well.

"Francis," she moans breathlessly, riding him with abandon, "you're so big..." She knows that saying these words would make him feel like a true king, and she's happy that it doesn't have to be a lie. Upon hearing her say such things he can't help but squeeze his eyes shut and groan her name, bending his knees to gain an ounce of control. Pride surges through him as he pleasures his wife, gladly able to give her what she wants and overwhelmingly relieved that he has not to worry about his size or performance.

He thrusts harshly into her, causing her to lurch forward slightly against his chest as he grabs her thighs in an inescapable grip, keeping her where he wants her. He pounds into her relentlessly, and he's certain her cries now fill the castle. Every mouse, servant, and visiting nobleman could probably hear her screams of ecstasy. Never before had she been this vocal, but then again never before had he penetrated her so deeply and so roughly.

"Francis!" She screams as he loses himself in her, refusing to end his assault on her womanhood. He intended to leave her bruised, out of breathe, and satiated all the while covered in his love bites. Not exactly a suitable look for the queen of France, but when you're a king you can do whatever you want.

Unable to take the desperation of his movements any longer, she pushes on his chest and sits back, now taking him to the hilt. He sighs in exhaustion, unable to comprehend how this beautiful woman could take so much of him. He wasn't complaining though. She watches his reaction as she rides him.

"Why are you so incredible?" He leans up to kiss her, trying to push harder into her. She shoves him roughly back against the pillows.

"It seems I cannot possess your body and soul without losing parts of myself to you," she kisses him gently and it sparks something between them. Such fierceness in their love making and yet such a calming kiss, such a reassuring promise. "I'm incredible because I am what you make me, I reflect what is my king and my husband." She moans and digs her nails into her chest once more.

"Oh, Mary, I love you so, so much," he groans, sweat lining his brow. He admires her glistening body and lets his hands roam every inch of her. He finds himself nearing that sweet release he has missed so dearly.

Mary recognizes the look on his face, the labor of his breath. His moans become more frequent and louder. Yes, he's very close now. That iron coil inside him cracks as it's pulled tighter and his breathing becomes sporadic. His chest heaves as he whimpers desperately, "I'm about to-!" But Mary doesn't let him finish before she removes herself from his lap.

He gasps, for a moment shocked at the loss of pleasure. Blinking, he looks over at her as she lies next to him, grinning from ear to ear. "Always expected the unexpected, Sir Francis," she teases as she revels in the sweetness of her revenge.

"Oh, you want to play that game?" He growls as he leapt on top of her, encasing himself in her wetness before she can realize he's even moved. He slams into her hard, groaning long and drawn out strings of profanity. She's crying out his name in a way she didn't know possible, and the way his hips smack against her's so forcefully she's sure she'll bruise by morning.

They're both close now, bodies dancing together in some erotic waltz that goes far beyond their time, but is captured beautifully by their love.

Francis is the first to fall apart, spilling himself inside of her with an exasperated and guttural moan. He says her name as if it's a spell that could end world hunger. Muscles contract and for a moment Francis is no longer in the real world, but wrapped up tightly in Mary and he doesn't care if it's all he ever knows from now on. This was his heaven.

When he finally comes down from his climax he doesn't hesitate to return to his position between her legs, massaging the sensitive nub with his tongue. He works magic and she is his slave, as he is hers. She doesn't take long this time, and soon she's burning with the heat of her orgasm, wave after wave of ecstasy flowing over her body like warm honey.

They collapse side by side, panting with the effort of what they'd just done. The only part of them touching was the tips of their fingers, reminding each other that they're still in the real world, but at least they were in it together.


	2. Mine

The headboard creaks as the constant movement of the bed irritates the structure. Francis pounds relentlessly into Mary, hard and deep. He wraps his arms around her and buries his face in her neck as he groans. He rides her into the mattress and deeper into their sheets, hiding them from the world.

The morning sunlight streams through the white curtains and bed decor. Making love first thing in the morning is beginning to become a habit of theirs, Mary notices as she's wrapped in the familiarity of her surroundings. It seems whenever Francis wants her, he'll have her. Is it that he's a privileged king, or that she simply couldn't keep her hands off him as well?

She cries out and tangles her fingers in his long soft blond locks, tugging slightly as he penetrates her deeper still. Placing the underside of her knee on his shoulder and pushing her leg down, his body separating her legs.

"Francis, dear god," Mary whimpers as he pins her down with a force he doesn't look so easily capable of, but is. She leans her head back and cries out his name again, desperately wondering if he'll choose to respond and surrender his harsh thrusts. It was all too much for her to handle, her insides were tensing up and she felt as if she'd explode.

He slows and pushes himself in to the hilt as he kisses her so passionately, moaning with content into her lips. She whimpers as he's sheathed completely in, his manhood assaulting her womb. Francis wanted a baby, and he'll find a way to plant his seed deep.

He pulls back and takes her leg off his shoulder, gripping her hips and lifting her so she was turned around.

"Bend over," he instructs. Mary's heart jumps from the change in action. Francis has never asked her to try this position before; in fact he hadn't asked her at all. He'd just told her. It was just so new, and hot, and thrilling. Apparently she doesn't bend over right because Francis grabs her roughly and pushes her upper body and face down towards the bed as her ass stays up in his hands.

First thing in the morning, Francis is at his most lustful for his wife, and despite being quite tired, Mary always enjoys how hard her husband can get at this hour. His engorged arousal is not something she can easily say no to, nor would want to.

"Hold still," Francis kisses gently down her spine as he pulls her hips back towards his, impaling her with his length as he does. She moans long and softly, pulling on her pillow. "Good?" he questions as he gives her ass a tentative squeeze.

"Mhmm," Mary softly moans, "Francis," she reaches back and grabs his hand as he begins to find a rhythm in his thrusting. It doesn't take long before he's grinding against her harshly and their senses are tingling with eminent orgasm. Sweat drips down their bodies and Mary's legs are beginning to tremble from Francis' desperate love making, and how she responds with equal vigor. He leans his head back groaning in pleasure and smacks her ass suddenly, sharply, but not at all painfully. She shrieks in surprise and can't help but blush.

"I'm close," Francis whispers to himself.

"What?" she pants, thinking she may have heard something. His eyes snap open and he pushes Mary's breast harder into the bed, her back arched against him as he takes her hard from behind. She can't stop whimpering now, he's so deep.

"Francis!" she cries, reaching for him. "I'm going to-"

"Mary!" he interrupts as he buries himself all the way inside her and shoots his seed further. His head falls against her back and he groans intensely at the burning heat of this orgasm. At the same moment she begins to contract around him, warmth flowing through her as she's doused in ecstasy.

He pulls out slowly, sliding a pillow under Mary's stomach.

"Keep your lovely self in this position for a bit," he grins smugly, blood rushing to his face. "It will help you to get pregnant," he adds so that she doesn't try to argue. She simply nods and sighs, reaching for his face with her lips. They kiss passionately and he lies under her gentle touch. He lets his hands trail down her shoulders, over her curves, and her trembling thighs.

"Are you going to be able to walk?" he chuckles. Mary groans softly, still trying to find her breath after such a life changing orgasm.

"Just feel lower," she mumbles. He lets his hand slide further and finds her trembling harder. He'd not gone easy on her, in fact from the looks of his worn out lovely, he might have just put her down for an hour at the least.

"Where did that come from?" she questions, finally beginning to regain her breath.

"I saw the way the other men were looking at you last night at Antoine's celebration dinner," he murmurs as he kisses her nose. "I wanted nothing more than to bend you over in front of them and take you like no man ever had or ever will. I wanted to make you pregnant, make my mark," he explains. "I guess I've staked my flag too deep, eh baby?"

Mary simply takes a deep breath and rubs her eyes, nodding. "You've very roughly plundered uncharted territory, that's for sure."

He places his hand on her cheek and gazes lovingly into her eyes. "You're mine. In every way."


	3. War Hero

F **rancis 3rd.p. POV**

 **I know that when Francis goes off into battle with Leith he is not yet King, but he will be in this fic.**

Why be a King if you're not ready to make sacrifices? Francis wanted his country to know that he wasn't just a King by birthright, but a King by destiny. His love and devotion to his nation as strong as his ferocious passion for his beloved wife Mary. Because deep down, in the pit of his soul, he knew that she was his reason. Not only his reason to succeed, but his reason to live.

If he truly cared about Mary's survival then he must go and fight this war himself. See it wasn't his need to prove to his loyal subjects why he's fit for their King. It was his need to protect and defend the woman he loves, as a man and not a royal.

Despite all the death and hatred surrounding those brave soldiers in Francis' group as they moved through the war, he still found himself lying awake at night picturing Mary's face. Every feature, every line, every memory he'd etched of her into his brain. He could not think of anything else as he wait for sleep to take him. No matter what happened in the days' previous hours, no matter the violence and gore, his thoughts always took him back to her. He reverted back to his safe place in times of need and distress, and he swears as he rides home from victory that it is what saved his life. It was the possible joy of such success that he would always risk the weight of potential failure. The chance of saving her was worth the risk of losing himself.

Francis had begun at some points to have rather carnal images of his wife dance across his imagination, but soon resisted the urge to entertain such thoughts. He would not let himself feel that pleasure until he knew his duty to protect her had been fulfilled.

So the night of the cannon victory defeating the last of the rival soldiers, Francis finally dropped the gate to that part of his brain. His manhood tightened his pants as the blood began to flow downward. His heart beat rapidly with the excitement of his fantasizing.

At that point the only thing keeping him from releasing such pent up energy was the close proximity of the other soldiers in his crew. Leith, only a few feet away, was still awake keeping watch. His shift had only just begun, he'd be awake for hours now. Francis would never have the chance without leaving them, and no one in that camp was going to let the King of France walk away from what survivors were left.

So eventually sleep took him, and a delighted puppy awoke in his place. He packed up with an attitude so cheery it became contagious. Within an hour they were upon their horses and headed back to the royal castle.

"How are you this morning, m'lord?" Leith wonders as Francis tosses him an apple. They walk steady through a creek, and Francis picked it off of an overhanging branch.

"I'm eager to see my wife, and yourself? I don't see how any woman, no matter how rich, will be able to reject your offer now. Not only will I grant you a position and holdings, but I hear that scars are very appealing to women." Francis winks.

"I cannot thank you enough for your generosity. And I can only hope that she will see that I am right for her now," Leith nods his head respectfully.

"I owe you my life, and you've become quite a friend to me," Francis grins and pats Leith carefully on the shoulder as not to hurt him or disturb his posture on the saddle of his horse.

Some time later Francis sees the gates of his home, locked and awaiting the triumphant return of their King and their greatest warriors. He breaks into a gallop, his horse startling the others as he takes off so quickly and unexpectedly. A loud horn is sounded to signal his return, and as he approaches the gates are opened and nobles, servants, castle folk, and visitors alike were flooding the foyer of the entrance. His soldiers are not far behind as he dismounts.

Words are said and cheers are made, but when Francis sees her face in the crowd, flooded with relief, his heart fell to his stomach. They were drawn to each other and as he reaches her they share a chaste but passionate kiss.

It was as if everything else from that point on happened in a blur. For so long it had only been memories, thoughts, dreams. Now she was actually here with him, her warm skin brushes against his bruised and battered torso.

Being with her again felt like finally warming up your fingers or your toes after a day in the snow, so much pain for so long that it finally becomes numb, but you never really realize how numb until you've started to thaw out.

He had no idea how badly he really wanted her, because he never let himself think or act that way while at war. Now that he's back in his own bed, in her arms, he wasn't quite sure how gracefully he'd adjust to the warmth that gnaws at his cold.

Sunlight streams through the window as Mary and Francis move together in a way neither of them have for some time now. Their naked bodies relearn each other after the missed nights, and Mary takes note of a few new scars. She remembers his old ones, as they were kids when he got many of them from their mischievous adventures. He once fell out of a tree.

She perches atop his pulsing arousal and he slides into her slick folds with ease, earning a sigh from them both. They don't stop their desperate kissing, refusing to let one another go and clinging with such strength that it'd surely leave marks on their skin. He lies on his back and she begins to move herself up and down on his engorged manhood.

He groans, "you're so tight." Squeezing his eyes shut he wraps his arms around her and presses his lips to hers. She moans in response, adjusting to his size.

She only moves herself against him for a few more seconds before he grabs her hips and holds her in place.

"I'm gonna cum if you keep doing that," he warns, rubbing his fingers lightly down her back. She nods and stays still for a few moments, running her fingers through his hair as they continue their kisses. He wasn't embarrassed that it hadn't even been a minute yet before he's ready to blow. He's waited far to long for this to worry about anything else.

After some odd moments Mary begins to move, and euphoric bliss washes over him. He feels close to the edge, sensitive. He could finish at any moment, but he resists to prolong watching Mary ride him in such a way. She moans his name and fucks him harder with every jolt, yanking him closer to the point of no return. He wasn't going to be able to tell her to stop this time, he's not strong enough.

So he decides to embrace his eminent orgasm and flexes his legs up to better angle himself inside of her. She cries out and scratches his chest, repeating, "yes Francis! Yes!" He clutches the pillow behind his head with one hand and the sheets by his side in the other. A light sheen of sweat covers their bodies despite how they've not been going at it for that long.

There was hardly any warning before he started to explode, a pleasure so pure he saw stars and his whole body was taken over with mind numbing euphoria.

Outside the doors to their chamber, the guards hear Francis howl with an intensity that not even Henry had achieved during his most intense sexual endeavors. Their eyes widened at the suddenness of his outburst, knowing surely that the King must've reached his peak. They knew what was happening in there, and had guarded the doors to them long enough to know when the King and Queen were deep in the throes of passion. But in their experience it sounds as if he had never had an orgasm more powerful. And they were right.

Her name escaped his lips coated with pride and heated pleasure. He shot streams of hot liquid into her womb as he stakes his claim deep. Married or not, he will always fight for his wife. His moans begin to slow and lower in volume, his writhing lessens, and soon he's limp under her. His heart beats wildly and his beautiful golden hair is splayed across the pillow, unkempt and untame. He can't even find the strength in his arms to lift them and wrap around his lover. His legs and fingers relax, both sore. His body feels like hot candle wax. Mary breathes just as heavily as he as she removes herself and lies against his bare and heaving chest.

They lie there for a few minutes simply reveling in the glow of their lovemaking.

"I really missed you," Francis whispers to her as he kisses her hair.

"I missed you too, my Francis," she answers back, tightening her hold around him.


	4. My Queen

Beautiful wild flowers hung from vines in the royal throne room. They were purple in colour, Mary's favorite. Kenna had been in charge of planning for this joyous event; a party in honour of the Queen's day of birth.

When Mary first enters the room, Francis at her side, she gasps in admiration.

"Kenna you remembered!" She laughs in excitement.

"Of course! You've only been in love with the colour for as long as I can remember." Kenna smiles at her friend. "Happy birthday Mary."

"Thank you," Mary grins.

The three of them stand on the edge of the mural in the floor, watching as their guests pour in. Other royals, nobleman, and foreign diplomats. The most important people in Europe were coming together to celebrate, but also to judge, and form new alliances. Surely a lot of them will stay at court a few days' time to solidify new agreements and trades.

"Oh, there's Greer!" Mary notices, grateful to see her friend after such long time apart. But it's not appropriate for the Queen of France to visit a madame, no matter their past.

"Go have yourself a lovely night, my darling," Francis says with a gentle kiss to her cheek.

She nods and smiles, releasing his arm to go and greet her guests.

 **some time later.**

Francis approaches his dancing wife and two partners, Greer and Lola. Kenna dances with Bash and a few others elsewhere. When Mary sees him coming towards her she leaps forward in excitement, tripping over her dress in the process. He catches her of course, chuckling as he stands her upright.

"I think you've had enough wine," he winks. Leaning in as if to kiss her cheek, he whispers, "or not nearly enough. Meet me in the wine cellar in half an hour." Francis secretly leads her hand downward, and she gasps. He pecks her gently and nods to Greer and Lola, who can see the furious blush upon Mary's cheeks. "Take care of her," he instructs to them. They nod.

Quickly he's off to a nearby envoy, jumping right into political conversation. How he's able to put on such a show, she may never know. He plays his part as King very well.

She agrees to stand still for a moment and take a cup of water so as not to expose the true reason for her sudden wobbliness. Greer stands next to her, suspicious as she gazes upon the crowd.

"What did Francis say to you?" she wonders casually, avoiding eye contact.

"Oh nothing," Mary's voice is a tone too high. She coughs. "He simply wanted to tell me he loved me, isn't that sweet?"

Greer nods and smiles, "very sweet," she agrees, unconvinced still. She's silent for a moment before turning to Mary once again. "He said something naughty didn't he?" she teases, Mary's startled reaction and helpless stuttering gave it away. Greer laughs and pokes Mary on the shoulder. "You dirty birds!"

The Queen's cheeks turn almost as red as the roses in her hair.

 **half an hour later.**

Mary paces back and forth impatiently, having been waiting for Francis in the wine cellar for ten minutes already. She was early, but figures it suspicious that they both disappear from the festivities at the same time. They may be married and royal, but they must keep their dignity and be discreet about such physical affairs. She knows that this was a request of desire, for when he encountered her earlier she felt his arousal, hard and ready beneath his clothing.

She sips a glass of wine and decides to lean against the table in the middle of the room, beginning to feel the effects of the alcohol.

The doors open from atop the stairs and Francis appears.

"Francis," Mary sighs, relieved it was him. "What are we doing down here?" She doesn't know why she's asking when she clearly knows the answer. He pours himself a glass of wine as he stands next to her.

He says nothing as he tentatively takes a sip and leans in to press a chaste but sweet kiss upon her lips. He then turns her around and begins to undo the strings of her upper corset. She doesn't object as the article falls to the floor, leaving her breasts practically exposed in the sheer tunic she wore underneath. He then drops her outer-skirt, leaving her in fine silk undergarments.

Reaching around as he kisses the back of her neck, Francis gropes her breasts, his right hand sliding into her tunic and gently thumbing her nipple. Her breathing increases and she leans her head back into his shoulder, tightening her grip on his hair and his shirtsleeve. His hardened manhood pressed against her exposed thigh, and Mary forgets to breathe for a moment.

He turns her around and kisses her with a fiery passion.

Lifting her up onto the table he places himself between her legs and whispers to her.

"I couldn't keep my hands off you for much longer," Francis moans as he grinds himself against her, their desperate kisses only intensifying. Her fingers tremble as she struggles to undo the latch of his belt, as she'd already removed his shirt.

"No, my love, today is your day," he takes her hand and stops her movements. Confused, she holds onto his belt still. "I'll treat you like the Queen you are, beautiful Mary." He takes her hands away and lies her flat against the table. After another taste of wine Francis slowly begins kissing his way down her body, until her hands were twisted in his hair. He uses his thumb to rub against her sensitive bundle of nerves before pleasuring her with his mouth.

She leans her head back and cries out his name in surprise. He uses his lips, his tongue, his _teeth_. He was incredible. She shivers and flexes her thighs, a feeling building up in her stomach.

Clinging to her hips with his strong arms he holds her in place, refusing to leave his position between her legs until she's had her release. Above him all he hears are erotic noises of pleasure.

He stays there for as long as he needs to, and to him it's as if no time has passed at all. For Mary it's like she's been wrapped up in the heat of it all for hours, and that feeling is nearing it's peak. She's about ready to explode. Her stomach twitched and her legs were numb.

"Francis please don't stop, I'm close," she begs, running her fingers through his beautiful soft golden hair. He continues still. "Yes!" she whimpers, tightening her grip.

He licks up and down her swollen clit relentlessly as she falls apart, waves of ecstasy hitting her like the water of a lake on a windy day. "Francis, it feels so good," she moans to him, rubbing his shoulders and his biceps as she begins to come down from the high of her climax. Her back arches and he reaches up to caress her stomach.

When he pulls away to look at her he is overcome with joy at the sight of his wife. Her hair was splayed out beautifully against the table, and the look of her face was flushed and exhausted, but she looked as if in a state of bliss. He knew she was when she smiled gratefully at him, reaching for his company despite the fact that she was clearly out of breath. He held her legs in his arms as they trembled. She would not be able to support herself standing right now.

He rubs his hand along her sensitive womanhood, sliding a finger between her slick folds. Her mouth opens slightly. This was surely natural lubrication brought about from her orgasm. She was nearly dripping onto his arousal.

"You are so wet for me," Francis groans as he places the tip of his erection at her entrance, holding her legs in his arms as she lies back in full few of her King. He slides into her with an ease so smooth it makes him want to cry. He begins pushing into her, picking up speed almost immediately in response to her pleas and moans.

"Harder!" she begs, and after only a few moments of gentle thrusting Francis feels himself approach climax.

"You're too tight, I'm gonna cum soon," he groans in pleasure, bracing himself for what was to come.

"I love you," she reaches for him and he leans in to place a tender kiss upon her lips before returning to his hurried thrusting. A few moments later and he his head leans back as Francis begins to spill himself.

He groans and roughly buries himself in his wife, wrapped in her arms as he rests his head against her breast.

"I love you too, and happy birthday my love," Francis whispers to her after the intensity subsides, pressing his lips to hers. Still intertwined they share a deep embrace, as if the party upstairs never existed. Nor did the rest of the world, hence eliminating their duties. All they have to focus on in this moment is each other.


End file.
